The Other Black Sheep
by Nellie Putnam
Summary: How did Erik become deformed? Following the theory that Erik was a DeChangy, I introduce Erik's older sister, conniving and brilliant as ever and her STRONG tie to the story we love. LerouxKayesque. The lullaby is from 'Sweeney Todd'. Not mine, etc.
1. Eldest

_AN: This is an 'old' piece I wrote after LITTLE LOTTE but before everything else I've posted here. I found it while doing some cleaning and it did very well on the phantom-phiction site I used to frequent (that was sadly discontinued. sniffle) and I'm glad it's done the same here. More to come, but when I run out of material I'M GOING TO NEED __**YOUR **__HELP! This is a more "artsy" piece and non-traditional in its format. I wrote it in aprox. two days after seeing 'Sweeney Todd' for the first time. I consider it a marriage of the two textures and feelings: all the lush emotion and plot that we're used to with all things Phantom, and quite a bit of icy-hot cynicism from the heavy 'Sweeney Todd' influence. K, I'm done talking. Disclaimer: Not mine, except for Genevieve, and you can only have her if you beg and grovel before me. Enjoy, dears! _-NELLIE

* * *

ELDEST

Morning in the DeChangy household.

The sunless sky, the invisible light within my room, my night-shift, and the excuse of a breakfast that was left for me outside my door were grey.

All grey.

Some thunder boomed outside and I pouted on the floor: Mother's water broke late last night.

No one told me.

She had been careless throughout the entire pregnancy and they had started to think that the baby wouldn't be born at all. Hence, the busy rush, and the desertion of their only daughter.

Me.

I grinned manically: I may not have managed to destroy the being inside Mother, but surely, he would never be as sharp as I. I could still rule. They could still be mine! Mother was a stickler for perfection and surely, after all that she had done, there would be SOMETHING the matter with it. The mind, the body, the soul, something would be damaged!

I had ensured it.

I sat like that on the floor, rocking and grinning in a ragged, demented manner till the grey turned a shade of black,

And it was night.

Silently, I reached for a book, any book would do, they were all beyond the comprehension of the average seven-year old. Or maybe some paper, yes, I could remind them of how well I could sing, and even more so, how well I could speak.

My Voice.

My voice was a wonder, and unheard of phenomenon of power and beauty. And despite the impressions I gave off in company, I was very much aware, and VERY much in control of it.

I made my choice, I would do neither.

I thought of a tune, the sweetest tune that mother and father had ever heard, and I began to sing it right from my room at the top of the house. In Moment's time, I heard their wondrous murmurs.

They were home.

I sang sweeter in order to soothe them from what was either a stillborn birth or a case of mental retardation.

I heard sharp, crisp wails.

IT was alive.

I flowed into a lullaby, the better to make them think that I adored the dirty mass of flesh.

"_Nothing's going to harm you, _

_Not while I'm around. _

_Demons are prowling ev'rywhere, Now-a-days_

_I'll send 'em howling,_

_I don't care, I've got ways_

_No one's gonna hurt you, _

_No one's gonna dare._

_Others can desert you, not to worry whistle, I'll be there_

_Demons'll charm you with a smile, _

_For awhile, But in time…_

_Nothing can harm you..._

_Not while I'm_

_Around." _

I admitted to myself that this was an improvement. Never before was I able to tap into actual emotions along with the music itself.

The Murmurs stopped.

I stopped.

IT kept dribbling, and crooning, and wailing, and snarling, and shrieking, and Screaming!!

I came down stairs as fast as I could, my cheeks red from the shock. Why had they stopped? Why had they stopped? The murmurs of approval, they were mine, they were always mine! They DON'T stop!

The entry hall was dimly lit with our normal, grey candles, and the bleary light made the wooden floors shine like precious gold. I could hear mother's cries mixing in with IT'S as I slipped, ever so strategically into father's sight. I came over to where it lay on the couch when Father lifted me into the air and sat me upon his shoulder like he did when I was smaller.

"Up you go sweet heart. My, you're getting to be a big girl, Genevieve! How'd you fair out with the maid today?"

"Fine, Papa." I said, making my voice all magic and sugar. "Where's the baby?"

He paused, suddenly off-guard. I had him now.

"Oh. Um, sweet-heart, I don't think that would be prudent."

"How?"

"Well uh—babies just don't look like themselves when they're born. They need time to—get used to the world. They've never been in it before." Pearls of sweat formed a crown upon his forehead and I carefully wiped it off with my silken, pudgy hand.

"Thank-you, Genevieve." he said.

"You're welcome, Papa. Now may I see the baby? _S'il vous plait!_"

I saw dear Mother shake, and she gripped the rim of the chair she was standing by with such a force, my half-deaf Father heard it creak. "GOD DAMNIT, PHILIP!!! Let her see the thing!!"

I slid off father's shoulder as he muttered some sort of an apology. IT hadn't stopped, not once during this whole drama and conversation. It wanted attention, and holding, and other revolting rubbish like that. I leaned over the blankets, there was a little scarf over the face.

Deformation? I could only hope.

Coolly, I peeled back the makeshift mask.

Stopped. Everyone Stopped.

And the blaring silence huddled us together too look at IT, my tragically deformed baby brother.

I did not scream, I did not cry, I didn't even vomit, though I did consider laughing at a very warped version of success. I picked him up and looked at the face. Mother was whimpering in the back-ground and the little thing was bleary-eyed because of it. Oh, yes. I knew he understood. In those looming, invisible eyes, I saw an understanding of most of the situation before him. He knew I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my being, for, because he was so ugly, because he was DEATH itself, and the cries from his throat were almost as hypnotic as mine, and especially because he would be smart, very smart and clever,

he would have them. They would be his.

Their thoughts and dreams and movements would revolve around avoiding him and he would consume them indefinitely. I could sing till I was blue and dry all over, and make as many clever contraptions as I liked, but it would no longer matter. They would be his.

Erik.

Changed everything.


	2. Sibling Rivalry: Part One

SIBLING RIVALRY: PART ONE

I was not surprised when the doctor declared that IT would, in fact, live.

If for no other reason that to torment me and send me downwards into freezing pewter of hate that had formed within me,

Erik lived.

Mother broke down and tore out of the room and Father backed slowly away.

"You do not leave, Mademoiselle?"

"No." I said plainly.

"Why?"

I said nothing. I had told many a fib before, but I could not bring myself to lie so horribly. I put on a sad face to see how well he would misread it.

"You love your little brother, don't you Mademoiselle?"

I was stark, still.

This was not a game I was willing to play. I could pretend to cry for dear little Mother, that would be easy. I could pout because of a newfound lack of privacy and attention, that wasn't too far removed from the truth...but under no circumstances would I willingly play the part of a loving, older sister. They could not make me. They could not make me!

Especially to IT!

"I think Mother will be needing your condolences downstairs, Monsieur." I said coolly.

My word choice frightened him, as I had intended them to do so. After all, what seven year old _**girl **_can pronounce the word 'condolences', much less decipher its meaning.

He stumbled out the door muttering insane things about intelligence, craziness, and a confounded little child.

I was left alone, at last,

with IT.

I came upon the crib with the utmost care and silence. IT stirred in its sleep and yawned its dry, lipless mouth.

"Hello, brother mine." I snarled, softly.

IT gurgled and stuck out a bony hand for me.

"Not so fast." I said, still keeping the low tone, for fear of being heard. "You won't have me. I won't let you, brother mine. And, do you want to know why that is, little brother?" I asked.

He put out his tongue. Grey and slimy, like the rest of our household now.

"Because I am not afraid of you. Yes, isn't it that simple? If you can take away fear, you can take away everything. Isn't that right, brother mine?"

I came out further and let my silken grey hair ribbons fall into his bone ragged clutches. Erik took one, and tugged, forcing me downwards toward him,

I complied.

I wanted to see what he would do. I wanted to see how clever he was.

He plucked it,

like a harp string.

Short,

short,

Long.

Short,

Short,

Long.

He made a musical pattern. IT, as an infant, made a musical pattern.

We would be a close match. But I still had the upper hand.

"Very good little brother. You got my smarts—at least some. I bet you fancy yourself clever right now, don't you? Fine then, I'll let you have it for a while. I can let you get used to it. And then, do you know what I'll do, brother mine?"

IT began to make a variation of its pattern on my hair ribbon.

"I am going to take it away from you."

The hair ribbon came out of its hands, and the twisted smile faded.

I nodded. "Yes. That's right brother mine. You must respect your older sister, Genevieve. Good-night."

I skipped out of the room,

and bolted the door

Shut.


	3. Sibling Rivalry: Part Two

Sibling Rivalry: Part Two

Beloved mother was never quite the same after it's birth even after the others were born. But, without a

doubt,

the first few moths of its life were eternal Hell upon me. All mother would you, you see, is sit at the kitchen table where Erik would have sat and tremble. She would not speak. She would not say why. Sometimes it was because it was hungry, or that it had waken up and needed soothing, or it wanted a toy, or any of those other mundane things that babies need. Because of this,

she trembled.

The good doctor who had ensured us of Erik's survival assured us in such the same manner that her--tremblings in the kitchen were nothing. "No, this is merely a delayed reaction of trauma because of the birth. She will be fine in a few days." he said.

A doctor's opinion is always safe.

That doctor's opinion was not

accurate.

Because that was not the reason. As I have told, she did not say, but I knew.

It was because of the thing itself. Erik.

He was a baby.

He was her baby. He was her baby born from inside her womb, he was

her.

And if he had been born without such physical deformity, she would be giving him her milk and her old blankets from infancy.

Mother saw no one, she heard no one, and it would screech and cry all till night. So,

naturally,

she found someone to do it for her. A female figure that it should get to know and befriend on ordinary circumstances. She found a nurse, a maid, and a mother formed into one that was ever so conveniently close by and of kin. Dearest Mother DeChangy

procured me,

She made me.

One afternoon it was feeding time and Father decided that Mother should try to get out of the kitchen for a spell and stand against the wall of Erik's nursery...the attic...and hear how I handled things with it.

The floorboards, creaked, at the pressure of my feet against them, though there was no clunk or scuffle coming from me otherwise.

I had with me a bowl of a watery pourage of some sort and a bottle of formula. It was howling again but started to play with the blankets at my entrance. I set the bottle down on the nightstand and waited for Erik to stop.

He wouldn't.

"You're not going to cry on me, brother mine." I said. "You will stop, and I will feed you, and there will be no conflict on either side. You will sleep, and I will go."

He paused. I saw him actually think, and contemplate.

Too long.

"Do not undermine me, little brother, I can take them back as easily as you have abducted them from me and I will see to it that you get what you disserve!"

Silence.

"We have an accord then."

I took him into my arms and sat on the floor by the nightstand. I reached for the broth and began to spoon feed him. As I did so, the hollow voices of my parents' worries and concerns floated to me in broken melodies. I would reassure them. Erik was ready for some of his formula and as I reached for it, I went over my pretty little scales, and then into my favourite lullaby.

"…_Demons are prowling everywhere, _

_Nowadays—_

_Nothing's going to harm you, _

_Not while I'm around…"_

They stopped. And they murmured for me.

I went louder and ignored the scowl on my brother's face as I fed him the formula. He skull-eyes darkened and he refused to drink any more. But I did not care. I went back to the broth and gave him some more. He signaled to me that he was full. I burped him perhaps a bit too hard, and set him down to bed.

"See? Life is easy when you listen to your sister, Genevieve."

He scowled and gurgled.

"And now good-night."

The world surrendered itself to silence as I left, the torture was finally done and over with. As I crossed the threshold of the room silence

shattered.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!"

IT was awake, and needing.

I could hear mother and father wondering what happened outside and nosily made my way over to inspect Erik.

IT laughed. It laughed at me.

"You won't be playing games with ME, Erik!" I snarled, "I know that you are VERY much aware, do not try to make a fool out of me!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

He made me hold him,

for half an hour, laughing and scowling all the while.

Finally mother and father came in and saw the scene.

"Look dear; see how Genevieve takes to him so well?" Father said soothingly to mother.

"Yes..." She said, hardly believing it: her glory child and the thing she created so close; almost as one.

"Perhaps we should let her look after him more often."

"That sounds wonderful." Mother said.

I glared at Erik. My thoughts, swelling in a storm, _Alright, you win today. But this is just the battle, NOT the war!_


	4. Life Passes

_AN: Because this is going so well, here is a bonus chapter!!! Enjoy, dears! _-NELLIE

LIFE PASSES

Life.

Passed.

For years, in fact, it moved in the steady, diabolically sensual pace as it was now accustomed to

with me.

Erik got bigger, and then he got smarter. It was a two way charade with us, I

would be sweet, and overly protective.

He, would be overly curious, patient, and pleasantly clever. It pleased

them, This relationship that was developed and acted out in a candid, strategic manner and it pleased ourselves, to be able to drop it at our leisure. And, me especially, for as soon as Dear Mother had minimized her fits and spells of terror, she and Father decided to try for number three.

My looks,

Erik's gender,

My charm, Our brains.

The perfect child.

And, when they weren't doing that, they were looking for ways to put me

to use.

The state of my voice was never quite explained, Mother could not sing and neither could Father. The DeChangy line was not known for its artistic attributes, though the males were quite known for lagging around stage doors. At any rate, I

Was,

the traditional Aristocratic child and could not keep house.

And as I was a DeChangy, it would be a disgrace if I even knew how.

Strike One.

As a female, I could not exercise my intelligence in any other medium than the arts. With Erik on our hands, I had lagged behind with my training.

Strike Two.

Should there be anything else wrong with me,

it,

would be intolerable.

There is no Strike Three, in the DeChangy household.

So they went about fixing the rotting fruits of their negligence.


	5. Meg: Part One

Meg: Part One

Neighbors.

It sounds friendly—doesn't it? I wonder if the man who invented it was a liar; I wonder if he wanted to fool everybody into thinking that neighbors were a good thing to be enjoyed. Either that, or he was a silly git.

And there I go again:

Lax,

Filthy,

British jargon.

I hate it.

Yet more exactly, I hate THEM.

The Giry's.

The woman is from Marcelles, but she was shipped to London. Then she got a man and now she's back.

I don't understand it. I don't understand any of it.

For once.

But all too clearly, I see it; I see it thousands of times over in my head

of that day

when they came

They came to

MY home…

"Come now, Genevieve, dear." Beloved mother called from the parlor.

"We have new neighbors down the street, and it's proper courtesy to greet them now that they're almost done settling in."

I made my entrance, more reluctantly than ever: I was fourteen and I didn't have to answer to anyone I didn't want to—

Unless it was mother.

"There now, don't you look pretty in that new frock, Genevieve. Pick your chin up dear, and don't slouch so much, it's obscene."

I snarled lightly under my breath and did as I was told. "May we go now, Dearest Mother?" I asked, bland as I could

for fear of what emotion would sprout if I chose to let it. Mother called for father, and then we left.

The three of us.

As our carriage pulled away, I leaned back in my seat to perceive Erik pouting at the windowsill. All you could see was that mold-colored bit of a hand and his white shirt cuff, but I knew it was him all around. Our mutual grim gaze flickered and penetrated the other; it was always a sickly,

strange

feeling when we did that, always on the opportune moment I turned away and scooted closer to lovely Mother as we drove on past the Gillyflowers and Daises on the lawns of our finer, less sociable of our neighbors.

"Dear, are you sure we haven't passed the house?" Pretty Mother asked as the fashion of the houses started to deteriorate as we pulled further along.

"Yes, love." Father grumbled. "Would you rather we go back?"

I snapped my gaze to mother: Which would she pick? Stuck home with Erik or in a crude stranger's house. I wasn't going to pick sides, oh no,

Neutral ground was far too enjoyable.

"Oh...I-I didn't mean anything by it, Philippe. I was merely just—wondering."

"Of course, Love."

I grinned. Erik had to be expecting this conversation, and I could bet anything that he had already set up a series of little

'games'

for the family just in case Mother

snapped.

It was about fifteen more minutes before we arrived. Sweet Mother looked like her stomach was contemplating relieving itself and Father just shook his head.

I looked.

It was not a slum, but it was not our estate either. Small with only a front lawn that couldn't exactly be called

green.

And yet, it was almost becoming and

homey.

The pavement crumbled and creaked like wood as we made our way to the front entrance.

There was no doorbell.

No one moved.

Snorting with the absurdity of it all, I knocked long and hard: it wasn't proper but with people who lived like this, I wasn't exactly thinking that they'd mind. What did they teach people in London?

Someone

fumbled

with the key on the other side.

clink,

clink.

The great oak door swung open on its rusty hinges and beholden to us was a woman much younger than mother who had the

very,

very

obvious signs of having just given birth.

Not

Again!!

"Who—are you?" She asked in an astonishing, but tolerable mixed accent.

"I am Monsieur de Count DeChangy." Father said. "This is my wife, Emilie and my daughter, Genevieve."

The woman smiled, showing an array of small dimples. "Oh, you have a little girl too?" She asked excitedly. "Come in! Come in! We are not quite so settled in yet, but the drawing room is quite presentable."

They walked in, hesitantly.

Like most of the world outside, the home was

grey.

With some moderate acceptations:

The tables were redwood and the curtains were a faded Champagne colour.

"Do you live around here, Monsieur de Count?" The woman asked shyly.

"Well yes, it's about a twenty minutes drive up the street or eh...forty-five minutes walk, depending on your stride, Madame."

She smiled kindly.

Silence.

Precious Mother asked, "Now, I don't believe you have told us you name, Madame. May we inquire...?"

"Oh, Yes! How rude of me! Yes, my name in Antoinette Giry. Anna, for short."

"I see." Mother said coldly.

Suddenly intimidated, Madame Giry turned to me: "Do you have any sisters, L...eh..."

"Genevieve, Madame." I said sweetly with a deep curtsey.

"Yes! Genevieve. Do you..."

"No Madame." I looked over to Mother who was all but quaking in her little boots.

No neutral ground this time.

"It's just me. It's only the three of us."

"Oh. Well...uh...do you think that you would be comfortable around a child?"

"I'm certain I could manage, Madame Giry. May I assume you have a little girl?"

"Why yes! What a beautiful, clever child it is!"

She turned to Mother and Father pleadingly, "Would it be alright if I showed Genevieve to my Little Meg's nursery? She's a month old and..." Anna Giry drew closer to Loving Mother, "Well, she's finally going into her fits an' colic. Tobias and I don't know what to do. She won't stop crying, we haven't slept in quite some time! I would never ask you, Countess DeChangy, but perhaps if Little Meg met Genevieve, could there be something done? I..."

Mother held up her hand to silence Anna Giry and I was almost certain that she was going to demand that we leave. "My Genevieve is very capable—isn't that right, dear?" She turned her head and words to father, though I could see those desperate, washed-out eyes huge as buttons fixated on me. She didn't want any children.

At least—not any

Girls.

Hopefully,

just for a while.

"Mother is absolutely right, Madame Giry!" I declared before Father could do a thing. "I have always adored children, could you show me to Meg's nursery. I promise I'll be gentle. After all...I've...I've always wanted a little sister."

Alright, it was a lie.

I hated children. I have never

not

hated children.

But this Little Meg was not mine and was probably just like all other baby girls: dumb, pretty, and colicky. I could soothe her in no time.

I was sure just being around here wouldn't kill me! I had to be realistic.

"Of course! Right this way!"

And with that, I was taken down a hallway and then up a crooked flight of stairs. As we rounded the corner, I could hear wailing. It wasn't as bad as Erik's had been, but it wasn't exactly music either.

Anna Giry opened the door nervously. She had no idea how good she had it: One child, probably normal, and a Girl at that: if she was like other girls, she'd be easily taught, trained, primped, and manicured for the marrying.

Most girls are so Easy.

"There...there she is Mlle. Genevieve. Do you know how I might calm her? I don't have experience with colic!"

I peered over the crib and turned to Anna Giry: "This ISN'T colic, Madame!"

Anna just shook her head and darted out of the room, but with reasonable right: the child's volume was unnerving.

I leaned over to retrieve her, but it made matters worse. I thought about reasoning, but it was obvious she wasn't smart like Erik, and at any rate,

it would not do for me to talk so with a normal child who I didn't even know.

"Hush dear," I said in my sugary voice. "Please? You're upsetting your Maman, don't you know? I'm certain you didn't mean to do that. Now, just be a good girl for your friend Genevieve and it will all be over and you can go back to...whatever it was you were occupying your time with. Is that alright?"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

I flinched at the sound of it all. Underneath the mayhem the girl was giving my ears, I could also detect Madame Giry fretting and pacing the hall.

And then, the sweetest, most obvious idea came into my head. It worked for Erik: Why not her, too?!\

Most girls are so Easy.

I lowered my voice to the tone I sang in. "Easy now, Little Meg. Genevieve's going to sing to you. Be a good girl. Come on now:

_Nothing's gonna harm you, _

_not while I'm around. _

_Nothing's gonna hurt you, darling, _

_not while I'm around..."_

Meg panted and let her eyes loll about the room and her volume decreased at a slow pace. Perhaps a little too slow.

_"No one's going to hurt you,_

_No one's going to dare. _

_Others can desert you, _

_Not to worry, whistle: I'll be there. _

_Demons may charm you with a smile, _

_for a while, but in time--_

_Nothing can harm you. _

_Not while I'm around." _

The little thing was fast asleep in my arms before I could breathe the last note.

I looked down at her full head of blonde hair. The face was red and grubby from the screaming, but Little Meg was actually, pretty.

I turned to sound of slight blubbering in the doorway.

Madame Giry was there with her hands clenched by her heart, and tears pouring down her face.

"Is there something the matter, Madame Giry?" I asked.

"No...no, it's nothing wrong, dear." She sniffed and wiped her eyes clean.

I stood confused with Little Meg still in my arms; I was used to good reception from my parents: I lived for their adoring murmurs. But, I had not once, seen anyone brought to tears with music.

Something broke inside my head and it sent my soul turning: like high tide on the sea. It was perhaps, a twisted combination of this profound realization of the beauty of music, and the very little girl in my arms.

Once again: I did not understand.

"Here is Meg, Madame Giry: I am certain that you will want to hold her now."

Anna Giry reached out for the baby and I left of at a coquettish skip that was very soon a sprint. What was this inside of me?

Maternal instinct?!

NEVER!

I hated children,

'Specially the small ones!!

However, the rolling, dizzying tide within me made me halt, "Madame Giry!" I said, reluctant to take some steps forward.

Anna Giry appeared in the doorway.

"I lied about it being just the three of us in the DeChangy estate. There is a brother I have, he's very young. But...but...But I think that even though he's still much older that you Meg...well, once she starts walking and talking, she should be able to...to come and see him."

What was I doing?!

What was I saying!?

It was all too dreadfully late now: Anna Giry smiled. "Thank-you for telling me Genevieve, I will be sure to bring her by once she is old enough."

I panted, "Oh. Yes. Alright then. Good-bye Madame Giry."

She nodded and went back to her child.

I did not pretend to skip this time, I ran down the steps and ushered Mother and Father out of that strange house. "Madame Giry wants to spend time with her now finally, PEACEFUL child, Mother. We can't certainly loiter around here, Let's Go!"

"But Genevieve..." they began.

"Father, go on ahead and tell the footman to ready the carriage...AT ONCE!"

THEY did as THEY were told,

and we did not go back to the Giry house for some time afterward.


	6. Charles: Verse One

_AN: My dears, as wonderful as it is to have a strong fan base, this story is starting to die on me and I can't figure out how to make it work. I implore that you give me your ideas on where this is going and your encouragment: it was all incredibly clear when I started, and I haven't wavered yet, but MY GOD, I can't begin to tell you where I thought this was going if I wanted to. _

_A Note to 'evilpinkbunnies': It looks like I'm transfering after all. I had a prophetic dream and I resolved to take up and go to that other place. Tell your brownie-begger from Geog. _

_I'm done now. You know the drill: R&R!!!_

* * *

CHARLES: VERSE ONE

It's well past over now, and the plan passed

brilliantly,

so I don't suppose it matters that they were

careless

when were looking for ways to fix up my pretty old voice and my skills with that

stupid

Violin.

He was just a young man—almost a boy, just two years my senior—playing a thwarted old fiddle down our street...he was closer to the Giry's I expect:

Father had the footman bring him over closer rather than just go out and speak nice and personal-like.

But I didn't know this till towards the end. I was just sitting at the window in the parlor while Erik played with a series of mirrors I gave him in the coat closest when that beautiful, gangly

man-boy of fifteen made his music fly all the way to me.

"You are a skilled tradesman indeed, sir." Father said awkwardly.

I could almost hear the rusty gears turning in his head,

his mind sloshing back to

Me.

playing my violin,

and then stumbling over a simple bar in the music.

The beautiful, gangly man-boy had played the same song to the street

and he did not stumble.

The man-boy grinned

while his body shook and twitched in a loving way—

he was not accustomed to being addressed by men like my father.

No one was.

"Thank-you, Monsieur."

"What is your name?"

"Charles, sir. Charles Daae."

Charles.

Charles Daae.

"I have a daughter, Charles. And she does enjoy the violin."

"That is good sir, music is the soul.

It is life, it is in everything."

"_It is." _

I whispered, still at the windowsill,

starring out,

Though he was only a few strides

away.

_Gone!_

He was gangly, to be sure, and his gaze was awkward as he came inside on my father's bidding.

I was frightening.

"Ah! _Ma cherrie_," father began with profuse zeal, "This is Monsieur Daae, and he wishes to teach you how to play the violin!"

"I _know_ how to play the violin..." I grumbled—awkwardly.

Charles sat down, next to me.

"Euh, let me hear you play—euh..."

"Gene..."

"Mlle. DeChangy."

Father. Sharply.

My knuckles were white. "Mademoiselle DeChangy." I repeated. Suddenly I hated it.

Charles' blow was wet. His cheeks grew pink in the tension. His great hand, shiny and calloused wiped it. "Mademoiselle,"

I fetched my violin.

When I came back, mother was in the corner, her coloring as sickly and disgusting as IT's. Why did I still call him _it_ ? "Is Erik asleep...or _playing_?" It was a demand. At least I could do what I wanted with mother, and best of all she took it with no resent.

She left,

mumbling about something stupid or other.

Charles,

gestured me to begin.

I played my lullaby,

for him.

He stopped me.

"Mademoiselle! Please!"

"_What_."

"You do not believe in that music.

Do you?"

"I...I play it just fine."

He peeled open my grip on the bow

with a caress.

"You know the words?"

"Yes."

"Sing it."

_"Nothing's going to harm you, _

_Not while I'm around. _

_Nothing's going to harm you,_

_Darling,_

_not while I'm around..._

_Demons are prowling ev'rywhere, _

_Now a' days..."_

"What do you believe in, Mademoiselle?"

Nothing.

All I really said was, "Why?"

"You must believe in your music, Mademoiselle. It has to become a part of you, in order to be pure."

Whoever said I was pure?

"Does this mean that you're going to teach me."

"I will try. But you must try also, little Mademoiselle."

I took back my bow.

"I will come back tomorrow."

Why was tomorrow such a very long ways away?

* * *

_AN: That's all for the chapter my dears, and PLEASE...somebody talk me out of ending this story. Pretty please?_


	7. Charles: Verse Two

_A/N: Better late than never, right? SO, I am in desperate need of help. Betas anyone? I think this chapter is lackluster compared to the ones before, but seeing something remotely popular rot just broke my heart so here's my chapter._

CHARLES: VERSE TWO

He kept his word.

Charles.

I was a trying student, but I didn't know what else to be.

Week Three, Day Seven,

Thirty Minutes.

"What do you believe in, Mademoiselle?"

I don't know.

"I am trying Ch—Monsieur Daae."

I was red with frustration—not just on the violin.

"I am very tired, Monsieur."

His crooked teeth shined in the sun's rays.

"You do not answer my question, Mamoiselle."

"I never have."

How Impudent.

Was that all I could do?

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Was that alloud?

"_Non_, you do not wish to know.

Keep practicing, Genevieve. I will come back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. And then you will finally answer my question."

"You're not supposed to come back until Wednesday!"

"I know. But I will come tomorrow."

"I don't believe you."

His laugh was like a great, friendly bell. "You see? Even now, we are getting somewhere!

_à demain_, Genevieve!"

Sulking Erik, and no one else,

dared to draw me away from the window.

"He said your name."

"_Oui, _brother mine."

"Were you waiting?"

"For?"

"You know."

My teeth gritted with the habit,

"_Ecoutez, _you are to stay in your room while Charles is here from now on."

Even with his mask on, I knew his face was expressionless behind,if only to

unhinge me.

"Do not disobey me, _mon frère._ I tried to take you out of this world once before, and so help me, I can succeed a second time around!"

There was a gurgling noise in his throat and I was unable to

guess

if it was a laugh or a cry.

"Go to your room"

Tomorrow, tomorrow, always tomorrow...

what was so wrong with today?

* * *


End file.
